The Five Stages of Veela Mating
by Sweetly Sarcastic
Summary: There are five stages to Veela mating. The last one is mate or die. Given his mate is Hermione Granger, Draco fears that for him it'll be the latter.
1. Chapter 1

Author secret: This little fic is already entirely written because that's the most reasonable thing to do at 3:30 in the morning, you know. But anyway. It won't take a year to finish this one because that was absurd.

So. Here we go.

* * *

He couldn't kill the girl.

His father had been very clear on that one.

He would, apparently, die without her.

Til death do us part, literally, and all that bullshite.

His father underestimated his own suicidal thoughts.

His father seemed to have foreseen this train of thought and added that he'd never be able to lay on hand on her with the intention of harm. The bond wouldn't allow that. He could have minions do it but it would have to be fast because he would be compelled to find her, to save her, the minute she was in danger.

And he'd also kill whoever had killed her.

As long as he didn't die himself first.

It kept coming back to that.

He was still trying to get out of it.

* * *

He was flummoxed by pictures of her in the society pages of the Prophet.

"For fucks sake, Draco," his father snarled over the morning jam tray. "She can't carry on with him. Eventually you'll have to claim her as your mate and if they're married you'll kill him."

Draco failed to see what was so terrible about that option.

"She would never forgive you if you let it get that out of hand," his father added, as if Draco had ever harbored hope she would one day forgive him for this monstrosity he was going to inflict on her. "Also, the Ministry paperwork would be a nightmare."

That was the first convincing threat.

* * *

He nearly fucked her in the ministry atrium and that was when he knew he was screwed.

Literally and figuratively.

He was crossing the atrium on his way to his father's office when his senses exploded. He could smell her, could hear her—could, Merlin, taste her, somehow—before he could find her and when he did it was almost worse.

She was fucking perfect.

She smelled amazing. Like every joy and hope in life mixed together with a cinnamon stick on top. And she had even tamed that objectionable hair into something presentable, which accentuated her neck. Her ever-so-bite-able neck.

Almost as quickly, he was hit by a wave of revulsion. She was with the Weasel. Her boyfriend. It disgusted him to his core.

That revulsion saved him the awkwardness of throwing her to the floor in the middle of the Ministry atrium, though it did nothing for his erection.

He stood, rooted to the spot, glaring at the people who looked at him strangely, until she and the Weasel disappeared safely out the floor.

* * *

He didn't bother knocking on his door. "You knew she'd be there," he growled. "You set me up."

His father looked at him with cool eyes. "You're welcome."

Draco slammed the door without another word and went home for a cold shower.

* * *

"I don't know why you don't just tell her," Theo said flatly when Draco relayed the incident.

Draco scoffed. "And what exactly would I tell her?" He began speaking with a falsetto. "Hi, Granger. Just so you know, I'm part veela and you're my mate and we'll probably die within the year if we don't fuck."

Theo laughed. "Tell her that and I can guarantee that you, at least, will be dead within the year."

* * *

Being a veela in a lot of ways was like having cancer.

For one, thee were the stages.

Stage one was the best. Stage one was having no symptoms of being a veela. Draco lived the first 19 years of his life like any other wizard. Well, better than any other wizard, for the most part, but in normal ways.

Stage two wasn't half bad. He became hypersensitive and moody. His senses sharpened, much like his talons.

Stage three the wings grew. They were always there, tucked casually around his shoulders like a cat nestled in for a nap. They hurt like a bitch when they grew in. He whined about it for days and his mother—his own mother!—had accused him of being a teething toddler all over again.

Fine for her to say. She'd never had to grow new appendages.

Stage three he also became more sensitive to her. Sharks could sniff a drop of blood in a ton of water; Draco could smell her in a room of people. In an atrium of people.

Stage four his teeth sharpened into permanent but retractable fangs that he could operate at will. That was pretty cool.

Stage four also meant he could feel everything she felt, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to that.

According to the stupid book his father had given him when he had given up on trying to lecture Draco on the importance of mating properly and quickly, he would be able to feel it whenever she had particularly strong emotions, no matter where in the world she was. And if she were hurt or scared or in danger, he would be compelled to come to her immediately.

It sounded bloody annoying.

Stage five and he either mated or died. It was a terminal sentence either way.

* * *

His parents were hosting a ball.

Of course his parents were hosting a bloody ball.

They had invited almost everyone.

Probably had, in fact, invited everyone.

His mother had tried to be discrete about it but he had known with just one look at her that she had, in fact, invited Granger, and that for whatever reason, Granger was going to attend.

He hated his mother. This had been her reaction to the Ministry incident? It was as if she were saying "oh, Draco almost jumped her in the middle of a room full of people? Let's repeat!"

For fuck's sake, her neck had been tempting enough when she was just wearing work robes; unless she came to the party in a nun's habit instead of a ball gown he'd be screwed.

That was in fact his mother's point.

* * *

He knew the moment she arrived.

He felt compelled to find her that very instant.

He started at a slow run before he even realized what he was doing. He forced a stop and took a breath. He could do this. But he'd have to not be a goddamned bumbling idiot. He stole two champagnes from a passing server for good measure.

He met her at the door.

She was stunning.

His claws peaked out and he nearly shattered the champagne flute.

She was wearing green, of all things. He liked her in green, in this demure green silk gown that hugged her curves and looked fabulous on her but would look better on his bedroom floor.

He wondered if her knickers matched.

He wondered if she was even wearing knickers.

"Granger," he had to fight his voice to keep a normal register.

She looked surprised by him. "Malfoy," her own voice shook a little.

He handed a glass of champagne to her. "Welcome," he said lamely.

"Thank you," her surprise seemed to melt into curiosity.

"Could I borrow you for a moment?" He asked.

"I suppose."

"The rose gardens are very nice."

"That sounds lovely."

He offered his arm to her and she—amazingly—took it.

"Oi!" An indignant Ron interrupted from beside them.

She blushed. "Sorry, Ron. It'll just be a moment." She had only just arrived but already forgotten her supposed beau. Draco took far too much satisfaction in that.

"Just so you know, I'm part veela and you're my mate and we'll probably die within the year if we don't fuck."

He hadn't intended to tell her that way. They had been sitting on a bench in the rose garden under the fairy flights while incandescent magical butterflies floated around them and he was struggling to find the right words to explain it, struggling with his urge not to push her to the grass and explain later, struggling with his erection.

She looked at him with shock and then stood up. He could almost feel her indecision as she fidgeted and her mouth twitched and her hands flinched. Curse him, slap him, or run away? Or try to bloody talk about it.

"Is this a fucking joke," she finally said.

He stood up and tried to look her in the eyes but she wouldn't meet his gaze. He knew she knew.

"It's not a joke." He told her. His voice was low and he kept his distance from her. It was like talking to a feral animal: he was afraid if he made the wrong move she'd bolt. "I know it's not what you would have wanted. I'm really sorry. I wish I were joking."

"How can you even be sure it's me?" She challenged.

He shrugged. "I just am. It just hit me one day. It's the instincts."

She was studying him carefully but not looking him in the eyes. "So now you feel compelled to me."

There was no other way to put it. "Yes."

"But I have no such obligations on you." It was her technical way of telling him to fuck off. It was still a better reaction than he had expected.

"That's only partially true. I've only felt things from this side of it, but I have heard that mates feel the same attraction; it would make things tricky if they didn't. The compulsion may not be as strong but it's there."

"I don't feel any compulsion to you," she told him quickly. He could tell she was lying but she couldn't let him know that. "I'm still not attracted to you."

"It may develop. We're still in the fairly early stages of veela maturation."

"I won't ever be attracted to you," she corrected. "I won't let myself be overruled by pheromones a magical bond that developed without my consent like a parasitic imperious curse." She had begun to talk louder and faster and her panic made him want to hold her and tell her it would be fine. Made him want to do it like a fucking imperious curse.

He wanted to tell her resistance was useless; being his mate now was in her magic. The more she fought it the worse it would be for her. It would be immensely better if she just stopped the struggle now and went upstairs with him.

But he knew enough about his mate to know she would hate feeling coerced. They didn't have a choice in this but he wanted to give her the limited space and freedom he could afford.

"I understand. Being a veela's mates has been compared in some literature to being under the influence of a love potion. It's not a particularly appealing notion of a consensual relationship. I wouldn't coerce into this, and I won't try to force you into anything, but you are my mate, and I can't change that, and I'm sorry."

With immense difficulty, he added, "I think you should go now and think. I'm sure you'll have a million questions and I can try to answer them for you when you're ready. We've even got books on being a veela in the library if you'd like them."

"I… well…" Hermione floundered for words and then simply apparated away.

* * *

He had been at Stage Three, which made the whole garden encounter bearable, but he hit Stage Four at around two in the morning.

Revulsion.

He felt revulsion.

He couldn't tell at first that it was hers. He woke up, still a little drunk, groggy and disoriented, and stumbled into the bathroom and was trying to vomit when he realized his revulsion was not his own.

Holy merlin's saggy left ball.

Somewhere, she was feeling absolute disgust and he could feel it.

He was fucked.

He leaned against the wall for support. He was on Stage Four. He needed more time. She wasn't even speaking to him and he needed to fuck her.

He ignored his own horrible realization. He closed his eyes and tried to explore her feeling. She wasn't hurt or scared; if she were he'd be by her side before he could even process it. She was just fully disgusted. Repulsed by something. Mortified, almost, by it.

He sat on his bathroom floor and felt it as slowly her revulsion faded into confusion and then embarrassment.

He tried to dissect it. Had she vomited in her post-gala inebriation? For him, at least, that induced disgust. Or maybe someone else had vomited in front of her—that was even worse.

He tried to seek more from her but the feelings were fading. She was probably going to bed.

Or reading a fucking book.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews and favs and follows! I've been writing off and on for a while and this is the best reception I've ever gotten and I really appreciate it! This was my favorite part to write and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

He had told himself he would give her space to think after the garden incident so he waited until late the next afternoon before showing up at her flat.

He knocked twice. It only took her a moment to open the door and then she promptly shut it in his face.

"Hermione." He pleaded. "Please. Let's talk."

"I'm very angry with you," she yelled, sounding like an annoyed housewife when her husband forgot to pick up the eggs at the market.

He could feel it. She was irate. "Well, there's nothing I can do about it from out here."

She opened the door again and he darted inside before she could change her mind. "Are you even a veela?" She asked. She didn't harbor hope he wasn't but she would not be made a fool of.

"Yes."

Her eyes narrowed. "Take off your shirt."

"We've only just begun talking and you already want me to take off my shirt? The mating pheromones work quick."

"I need you to prove it. I want to see your wings."

The fuckers were a pain to grow. If that's what made her realize he was truly a veela it would be the only good they ever did.

He made a show of taking off his shirt and tossed it at her. She threw it to the ground, annoyed. He turned to show her his wings, and flared them out dramatically. He had not lost his taste for theatrics since school.

They knocked over a lamp.

Damn.

That was the reaction he had been hoping for.

He could feel her curiosity. She was still annoyed, to be sure, but Hermione Granger had just found a piece of the wizarding world she could explore first hand and she was fascinated.

She reached out and touched the back of his wing tentatively. The soft feathers were warm to her touch.

"This isn't Magic Merlins," he ground out, trying to cover his immediate physical reaction to her touch.

He retracted his wings and turned to look at her again.

Her hand promptly collided with his cheek.

It was the second time in their lives she had slapped him.

He was beginning to rethink the fact that he couldn't kill her.

"What the bloody hell, Granger!" His cheek burned but her touch, even her violent touch, had his hormones wild and he fucking hated her for it. Her irritation had bloomed out of nowhere and he couldn't keep up with her.

She was standing there with her hands on her hips. "You could have let us die, Malfoy. I don't particularly care about your survival but I have life plans that extend past next Tuesday. Why did you wait so fucking long?" She demanded.

"I was trying to find a loophole."

She raised an eyebrow. "And you thought you'd succeed without me?"

"No, but my initial plots all involved off'ing you. I didn't think you'd care to join."

"As if you would have succeeded," she scoffed. "Veela cannot harm their mate. Their magic would never allow it." She gave him her best withering look. "What stage are you at?" She asked suddenly.

"How do you even know about Veela magic and stages?" He asked her.

She bent down for a moment—and the view of her cleavage was quite distracting—and then threw a series of books at him. She'd already read three books on Veela and it hadn't even been 24 hours yet.

"When in doubt, read a book. What stage are you at?" She repeated.

"Why" he asked guardedly.

She rolled her eyes at him. "How am I supposed to try to get us out of this if I don't even know how much time we have?

"You can't know. That's how this works," he said defensively. "There is no defined timeline; it moves however fast or slow it wants. One stage may last a week for one Veela and the next stage could last months. Some veela go through all the stages in months and others take a full decade."

She ignored him. "You're at least on stage three," she said. "You have wings."

He should have kept his shirt on.

"Drop it, Granger," he growled. He was mortified by the prospect of her knowing he could sense her feelings.

She scowled. His Veela had picked by far the most unpleasant mate possible.

"Fine," she spat. "If you don't have any further information to contribute, then, please leave so I can continue my research."

He made sure to slam the door on his way out.

* * *

It crept up on him slowly. There were edges of paranoia and then it set in heavier. He couldn't breathe. And then the terror started.

He was at her side before he knew it.

She was on her living room floor hyperventilating.

"What's wrong," he yelled, his wand drawn in one hand and the other searching her for a wound. "What happened?"

He couldn't see anyone else in her apartment and she wasn't wounded. Her fear perplexed him but he remained vigilant.

Her breathing began to slow and she struggled to sit up. He could feel her begin to calm and he didn't understand any of it. He rubbed circles on her back in a form of halfhearted comfort but kept his wand raised.

"Hermione?" He said slowly as her breath evened. "Are you alright?"

She finally turned to look at him. "Stage four, then."

His hand dropped from her back and he stared at her. The floor had just dropped from under him. "What," he finally said, dumbly.

"You're at stage four," she said, so matter-of-factly that he wanted to punch her pert mouth.

He could feel his limbs again and sprang to his feet. "What the fuck, Granger," he snarled. "You fucking tricked me. You weren't even fucking scared."

She clambered to her feet. "I _was_ scared. I was thinking about being stuck with you for the rest of my life. I just happened to let my fear get the best of me strategically."

His wand was sputtering with angry red sparks. "You fucking bitch," growled. "I dropped everything and broke through your door—which _hurt_ , by the way, and, no, I will not fucking pay to replace it—and I was ready to kill someone because I thought you were in danger and _you were just testing me_."

"I needed to know," she replied simply. "And you wouldn't tell me." It was her total lack of remorse that really got him. He could feel what she felt and she was literally feeling nothing.

He snapped. His wand came to life and he hit her with a jelly legs jinx and she hit the floor.

He could feel her surprise and he felt a sense of pride in himself for finally catching her off-balance. "I thought Veela couldn't hurt their mates," she said, shocked, as she reversed the jinx and grabbed her wand.

"And I didn't hurt you, now, did I?" He sneered. "A minor jinx is not a hex. Veela can prank their mates, they just can't kill them."

" _Avada kedarva,"_ he yelled. He made the wand movement but nothing happened. His magic refused to obey him. There weren't even sparks. It was like his wand was just a twig he'd picked from the forest.

"You tried to kill me," _now_ she was feeling horrified but also a little bit curious.

"It was never going to work," he sneered. "You're my fucking mate."

She took a step back and gave him a dirty look.

" _Avada kedarva_ ," he repeated for good measure. "See, Granger, you stupid bint, I couldn't hurt you if I fucking wanted to."

 _That_ made her angry. He reveled in her anger. He'd finally made her feel _something_.

"Stop. Doing. That." She spat and threw up a shield over herself before sending a slicing hex at him. She could still hurt him. There was that.

He tried to turn her hair into antlers (at least then it would be manageable) and she rolled over and tried to sever his left arm. He shot a stream of bubbles at her and she ducked and tried to expel his entrails.

She was a really rather violent mate.

He felt everything. He basked in her anger even at the same time his bond compelled him to resolve the source of her anger. He was also embarrassedly proud, and embarrassedly aroused, at how well she defended herself. No one would ever touch his mate without her consent.

"Stop it, Granger!" He yelled and tried to avoid and eye-exploding hex.

"Fuck off," she screamed and avoided a dancing feet spell.

In a fit of idiotic desperation he shielded himself and cast an exploding spell onto her lamp. The terrible porcelain cat-printed thing exploded with satisfactory gusto. Honestly, hadn't the bint gotten her fill of cat prints with Umbridge?

"You fucking fucker," she snarled and he dodged an inflatus jinx.

He doused her living room in a spray of water and that really drove her mad.

"I had new carpets, you ass!" She screamed. Her shields dropped and she charged at him, springboarding herself off the coffee table and tackling him.

She knocked him to the ground—which was now, of course, unfortunately wet.

"This shirt is _silk_ ," he protested. He should have at least thought to make the water _warm._

She was trying to choke him with her bare hands, wands forgotten, and he pushed her hands away and rolled her over. She managed a solid slap and he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head.

"Don't do that again," he ordered.

"I will whatever the fuck I please," she spat and he rolled his hips over hers, his erection straining to be so close to her, and he bent his head and captured her mouth and silenced her.

She tried to fight him but he bit her lower lip, sucked on it. It would be bruised and he felt a swell of sick, smug pride that she'd tried to fight him but would be carrying his mark. She still refused to open her mouth to him but he ran his tongue over the seam of her lips and they opened against her volition.

It had gone too far, but Merlin's ball he wanted it to go farther.

He told himself he needed to stop even as his tongue ventured into her mouth and she moaned. She fucking moaned. Her tongue battled his but she rolled her hips beneath him.

She was heaven.

Her hands wiggled out from his and she ran her fingers through his hair. His hand snaked up her shirt and struggled with the fabric before he gave up and hastily pulled it off of her.

She was everything. Her mouth, her hands, her skin, her breasts, her moans… he couldn't take it. He could feel her arousal on top of his own and it was driving him crazy.

He reached down and unbuttoned his pants. They could do slow and romantic later but he needed her _now_. His pants were still on but he pulled himself free and pushed her skirt up. He was so close. Months of agony and he was so close…

"Stop,' she ordered suddenly. Her hands were on his hips, pushing him away from her. The arousal had stopped and she was feeling… panicked. Her hands shook as she pushed him away from her and her knees locked together.

Shame hit him hard, both hers and his. He was a Veela. He had hormones. But much as he wanted to throw her to the ground and rut it out, he had thought he would never do it, not without her consent. He thought he was a better man than that, at least.

She tugged her skirt back down and he managed to do something gentlemanly for once and looked the other way while she fetched her shirt.

"Granger," he said. "I'm sorry. This… condition… is no excuse."

"I wasn't saying no," she admitted begrudgingly. "You're not all that bad. You kiss ok." Her belated, half-consent did not make him feel any better. "You should go now."

She couldn't bring herself to look at him as he made his way out the hole where the door had been.

* * *

Merlin bless his mother. He told her he needed to buy Hermione Granger a door, the best door that money could buy, and within the hour it had been done. Narcissa had also been thoughtful enough to send a rather large bouquet of roses and a generous bar of chocolate.

"The chocolate has to be sugar-free," Draco told his mother and she looked at him quizzically. Somehow _this_ was the most perplexing thing he had said to her since coming home. "Her parents are dentists," he clarified.

This only furthered Narcissa's confusion. Draco honestly didn't know what a dentist was either. "It's something to do with teeth," he told her.

Narcissa's eyebrows were knitted together. "And sugar is bad for teeth?" She asked, unsure.

Draco shrugged. "Apparently."

He could tell when it was done because he could feel she was pleased. He also nicked several books from his father's collections to mail her and he could feel it, with great relief, the moment she forgot her shame and mortification in favor of curiosity. She was going to research.

Merlin, he'd let her kill him if that was the only way.


	3. Chapter 3

I'll be gone for the weekend but I hope you enjoy this!

* * *

He was just going to bed when he felt her arousal wash over him. He'd already relieved himself twice, thinking guiltily of her body under his, but the moment he felt her arousal he was touching himself again.

Hermione Granger was wanking. The least he could do was join her. It was probably the closest she would ever let him get to sleeping with her.

* * *

He waited until the next Saturday before owl'ing her and proposing they meet for coffee. Coffee would be nice. Everyone liked coffee. And pastries. He could spring for pastries. Were there sugar-free pastries? And also it was a neutral public location in which he couldn't shag her and she couldn't murder him. Win-win, all around.

She responded rather quickly.

"I'm at the library. I'll be done in about an hour and then I can meet you at the Leakey and you can spring for lunch, not just a pastry. Don't get cheap on me now, Malfoy."

He laughed in despite of himself. She would keep him on his toes, at least.

* * *

He dressed for lunch and picked up some of his family's books on Veela. It was the most Hermione-Grangerish gift he could get her. Other than a kitten print lamp, maybe, but he certainly had no to plans to replace _that_.

She hadn't arrived yet so he picked a table for them, a nice booth tucked away in the corner. Bored, he opened one of the Veela books to a random page. Veela courting. Excellent. He needed all the help there he could get.

"A veela's mate may not be their ideal mate, but it is their perfect complement." Draco snorted. "not his ideal mate" was an understatement and he had no idea how she could be his complement. His yin to her yang? His sleek hair to her bushy rat's nest? She was more of a cosmic fluke that a complement.

The cosmic fluke flopped down on the other side of the booth and it pulled off its hats, it's hair spilling out terribly with frizz and static. He doubted for the umpteenth time could ever in any universe she could be his perfect mate.

"I may have found a cure," she told him. "And I'm famished. Do you think you can wait for stage 5 until I have a burger?"

This news stunned him momentarily.

But only momentarily.

"What do you mean maybe found a cure?" He demanded, but he had already lost her attention to the waitress she'd flagged over as she took five minutes to order a burger and fries.

He was tapping his foot with annoyance by the time she finished ordering her burger without mustard, with the cheese on top and the onion on bottom, buns toasted and the ketchup on the side and the fries only lightly seasoned.

He ordered the house salad.

"Well?" He prompted.

She grinned. "I found a book about magical creatures which included a chapter on Veela, and that chapter happened to reference a different book on wands, and that book had a chapter on wand cores," she began, and procured the book itself to show him. "I had almost forgotten, but Fleur's wand has a Veela hair core, and then it made so much sense."

He still didn't understand. When she looked at him expectantly, he scowled and she continued.

"Only a powerful magical object can be a wand core. That means Veela hair, like unicorn hair and dragon heart strings, are a strong source of magic. If one were to cut the hair…" she trailed off suggestively.

He looked at her with mute horror.

"You want to cut my hair?" He finally gasped.

She rolled her eyes at his theatrics and nodded. "Would you rather spend the rest of your life with me?"

* * *

She picked up the scissors and sliced at the air, testing them.

It was thirty minutes later. She had eaten her bespoke burger and drained a beer and let him pick up the tab without even pretending she was ever going to pay her part, and then he finally grabbed her by the elbow and apparated her to his flat.

For the first time, she considered that being bound to him may not be that bad. His flat faced Kensington Park—apparently he made sacrifices to the muggle but only in the bourgeoisie way possible—and had clean white marble and tasteful art on the walls and flowers on the tables. It was tasteful and elegant but comfortable and homey.

As he pulled her upstairs without a proper tour, she caught glimpses of beautiful rooms and an incredible library.

She was thinking about how the library could be a perfect bedroom and was plenty far from Malfoy's bedroom when he finally stopped pulling at her and handed her the scissors.

He sat down at the vanity in his gorgeous bathroom and she held the scissors awkwardly. They sat unwieldy on her palm. The sharp shearing sound they made wasn't quite right in her ears.

"For fuck's sake, Granger, are you going to do it or not?" He finally spat, impatient.

"Fine," she snapped. She grabbed a chunk of his soft white blonde hair and yanked it up from the root and cut it. It fell to the floor.

The ensuing silence overwhelmed her.

"I don't feel any different," Draco finally said.

"Should I keep going?" she hesitated.

"Might as well," he grimaced. "I can't leave it that way anyway now."

She cringed and made short work of the rest of his hair, watching chunks of catch the light as it fell. For good measure she shaved it once she had cut it down to just a few centimeters. She shaved his head in long, careful strokes, being careful not to nick him although she considered it. She still couldn't believe she was cutting his hair. His power may or may not have been in his hair, but his ego certainly was. She worked slowly, stroke after stroke, until she was done, and then he hands fell awkwardly at her sides.

"Do you…" she trailed off.

"No." He snarled. "I don't feel any different. Except now my head is cold."

* * *

She was in Flourish & Blotts. She was tired of reading about Veela and thinking about Veela and for fuck's sake, she wasn't even the one who was inflicted. She was going to read about fungi. Or the history of magic internationally. Or a magical mystery ("real photo clues!" the cover advertised, a promise sure to melt her mind into oblivion).

She accumulated a small pile of books in an hour while sipping cooling tea and carried her haul to a reading table to sort through. She wanted them all but she could realistically only buy one, or maybe two depending on the two.

But she wanted them all.

She couldn't sort through it. Everything was interesting and smart and had snappy covers, even the insipid murder mystery. She was tired of Veela history and Veela magic and Veela mating. She wanted anything else. She wanted everything else. And she was tired of thinking and analyzing and just wanted to get them all and be done with it.

She looked at her shiny, new books and their uncracked spines, their crisp pages, and she wanted all of them. Even this was different than the Veela books, which were all old and worn and sometimes crumbling. She wanted to turn a page and not see someone else's careless ink spill in a library book.

Maybe she would return them and leave and buy another tea. Her bank statement would be alright with that.

Someone banged at her table. She looked up to find Malfoy looming over her, panting slightly. There was the hint of something wild in his eyes.

"What. The. Fuck. Do. You. Want," he snarled each word individually, his voice low.

She was taken aback and looked bewildered at him. He had done it. He had snapped. This was stage 5 and they were going to die now.

There were worse places to die than your favorite bookstore. Maybe she could haunt it for an eternity. Although it'd be a moot point if ghosts had mates too. She couldn't spent a lifetime with Draco, much less an eternity.

"What do you want!" He snapped.

"I—I guess—what do-" she sputtered.

"Do you want books?" He interjected. "Are you fucking pining over these bloody books?"

That broke her confusion and she snapped. "Stop cursing!" She spat. "We are in _public!"_

He glared. "Granger. Do you want these books?" He asked. The words were almost polite but his tone was murderous.

She sniffed. "Not that it is any of _your_ business, but yes, I am considering purchasing these books."

He sneered at her. "It is _my_ business," he began with mocking tone, "because I can _feel_ every single thing you feel. Your pining is _grating."_

She bristled at that. " _That_ is not my fault."

He rolled his eyes at her but was scooping up her books. All of them. "From now on, if you want something—or even if you're going to feel something strongly—come and find me and I will get it for you or do it for you or whatever it takes to not feel whatever it is you are feeling and just feel normal."

He was taking her books to the register and she felt a wave of shame wash over her. She could buy her own books. She didn't need him, didn't want him, in her life.

"What did I just say!" He snapped at her.

She wanted to slap him. It was so pretentious of him, asking her not to feel things because it inconvenienced _him_ , as if he weren't already an inconvenience to _her,_ and thinking _he_ could take care of her needs and wants so she didn't need to feel anymore.

She left. Damn him, damn the books, she couldn't take another moment of him.

She stomped out.

* * *

She didn't make it far. She was just past Flortescue's when she ran into Theo.

She was stomping down the road, focused on the apparation point, and he'd had to put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

Revulsion welled up inside of her like a tidal wave and she nearly drowned it in. She shook his hand off her shoulder and shuddered, hard, as the revulsion receded. There was an acrid taste in her mouth and she nearly vomited.

Just as suddenly Theo was shoved against a wall.

"Don't you fucking touch her," Draco growled as his fingers wrapped slowly against his friend's throat.

Hermione was moving before she had time to even think about it. She grabbed at Draco's shoulders, trying to push him away.

Her fingers felt electrified where they touched his warm skin and he relaxed against her and let himself be pushed away. He was staring at her with intense eyes but he didn't fight her. She pushed until he had his back to the wall and then held him steady. His breathing evened out slowly and she withdrew her hands.

"Draco?" She asked tentatively. "Are you alright?"

He had begun to shake. "Merlin. I'm so sorry." He finally turned to his left where his friend was still slumped against the wall, stunned. "Theo, I'm so sorry. I don't… I don't know what happened. Are you ok?"

Theo nodded but a black bruise was already blooming across his throat. "I understand. I just didn't realize…"

"It's no excuse," Draco reproached. "There's no excuse."

A small crowd had begun to form around them, looking on curiously. "This is touching but I think we should leave now," Hermione told them.

Draco pushed off the wall first. "I'll apparate us to my flat."

That hadn't been exactly what she had meant. She didn't intend to mean that they should leave _together_. But then there he was, gently pulling her the last bit to the apparation point, Theo right behind them.

He didn't give her any warning before he apparated them and she suddenly found herself nauseous in his living room. She turned to glare at him but he had let go and was already walking away to the bar cart tucked away in a corner.

He poured two doubles of whiskey and then finally turned to her. "Granger?" He said, not even using her full name, not even asking his full question. She shook her head.

The room was still silent. She could hear the ice cracking as it hit the whiskey. Draco handed Theo a glass and they clinked their glasses together in a wordless toast before downing them in one.

"Shit, Draco," Theo said suddenly. "What the bloody fuck happened to your hair?"

Draco grimaced and touched his bald head. "Granger had a dumb idea."

Hermione prickled at this. "It was a fine idea and you went with it. It just happened not to work."

"The idea was to cut his hair…. why?" Theo asked.

"Granger thought—" Draco began but Hermione cut him off.

" _I_ thought that perhaps Veela hair has a magical core essential to Veela, that cutting his hair would unbalance his inner Veela enough break the mate bond."

"Was it successful?" Theo asked incredulously.

Draco snorted. "Obviously not."

Theo mulled this over a moment. "It doesn't make a lot of sense though. Hair grows back. How could that have destroyed the mate bond?"

"Do you have any other ideas?" She snapped.

He shook his head. "Why are you so bloody anxious to break the bond anyway. From what I've heard mated Veela sex is more incredible than any other form of it."

Hermione blanched.

"Thanks, Theo, for that helpful bit," Draco drawled.

"I just…" Theo stalled. "You let her cut your bloody hair."

Hermione flushed with shame at that. She felt she had taken something valuable from him, some part of his identity. He had let her, but she had done it, and it hadn't helped anything.

"I should go," she said and apparated away without waiting for a response.

* * *

They may be mates but he's not particularly good at wooing :O


	4. Chapter 4

She had just woken up and was sipping tea in her PJs when he appeared at her flat the next morning with a box of pastries.

"I brought croissants," was all he said in greeting and he invited himself in.

She rolled her eyes but shut the door. "They better be chocolate."

He sat down at her kitchen table and opened the box. "No, because I am not a heathen. The word "croissant" derives from the same root as the word "crescent", referring to its shape. A chocolate "croissant" may be made from the same dough that is used for proper croissants, but has a different shape. To call it a "croissant" is oxymoronic. It's a glorified pastry. I brought proper croissants. But I also brought nutella if you'd like a little chocolate with your croissant."

Merlin, it was too early for this.

She took a croissant anyway and slathered a generous portion of nutella on it.

"Interesting. And did you come here just to lecture me on breakfast pastries?"

"No. I came here to ask to date you."

And this she sat down.

"What?" she asked, dumbfounded.

He continued as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "It's obvious the effect we have on each other. There's a severe physical attraction. But that shouldn't be the substance of a relationship. I'd like to court you. Properly. Breakfast sweets and books and talking and generally things people do to gain affections."

The nutella was sticking to he mouth. "But you don't even like me."

He was frowning at her but he couldn't honestly have expected this to go well. "I know this is unpalatable now but Veela couples are happy and mate for life. I don't want to force this on you all at once, but we've both researched and we've both tried and there's not away around it. But it's not the end of the world."

He paused her and looked at her with heavy eyes. "I would move the moon for you, Granger. I would do anything to make you happy. Between my compulsion to make you happy and my monetary means of doing so, you would never want for anything again in your life. I would never, _could_ never, cheat on you. I can't even look at another bird and think she's attractive. No one is as beautiful, as radiant, to me as you are. I would worship you. You would literally have all the power in this relationship. Being a Veela's mate may not be the ideal way to start a relationship, but it's not a bad relationship."

His tone was matter-of-fact but his eyes were vulnerable and she felt pulled to him, not even to kiss him or to sleep him with, but just to hold him, and yet it ached, deeply, that he was offering her all the trappings of the romance novels she read, the romance novels she had consoled her lonely heart with upon occasion after romantic rejections, but he couldn't offer her love.

But she bristled. "You wouldn't _want_ to move the moon for me because _you_ wanted to, you would want to because you would feel _compelled_ to. You couldn't even buy my books without being an insufferable prat about it."

He was persistent. "I'm sorry about the books. I was in an awful mood. It was no excuse. Yesterday, and today, yes, I do feel compelled to you, to want to do things for you. But maybe tomorrow I will want because I want to."

"How will you ever know the difference?"

"I will," he insisted. "And even if I don't, you'll never know if we don't try. I've already let you cut my hair. There's not much else left to try." He forced himself into a wry smile. "Besides, it's not like you'd ever be able to date anyone again: you'd feel revulsion at his touch and I'd try to kill him, apparently."

She stood suddenly and went to the kettle to make another cup of tea. His reaction to Theo had shaken them all, it was true, but for some reason she was embarrassed to realize he had probably felt her revulsion that night after the party. She wondered if he knew what had happened, if he'd guessed it, or if he was just guessing now at what would happen. But he was right. She thought briefly back to his garden party. She'd gone to the party on Ron's arm and by the end of the night, after seeing Draco, after realizing that against all odds and her own will that she was his mate, hadn't been able to kiss him without feeling the need to vomit. She had in fact broken up with Ronald immediately after the incident; there was no hope of a relationship with someone you found revolting, nevermind that it had never been a solid relationship to start with.

She could feel his eyes on her but she ignored him steadfastly as she poured the water over the leaves, swirled it, added sugar, stirred again, and withdrew the leaves.

She finally turned around to look at him again.

"I will agree to this much," she said finally. "We can go out. Two or three times a week. Always in public places. Never involving drinking. No physical contact. And you will write me, once a day on the days I don't see you. And you will continue your research on how to break the bond and aid me in whatever I need to continue my research as well."

He stood. "Only you, Granger, would ever ask for terms in response to an offer to unlimited access to the Malfoy vaults," his tone was annoyed but there was a secret smile in his eyes. "I accept your terms. Shall we shake on it?"

She scowled at him. " _No physical contact!"_

He laughed and grabbed her hand anyway, forcing her to shake his hand, and damn him if his hand wasn't warm and soft and comforting and if she didn't want to hold on to it forever.

* * *

Her books arrived later that afternoon. Their conversation had reminded him that the books had been left in Diagon alley where he had dropped them in order to attempt to murder his friend and he had sheepishly made his way back to retrieve them. Tucked into the middle of the stack was a request for coffee before work the following day.

"You're just afraid of writing letters," she wrote back. "But yes. Just as a forewarning, I'm going to order a chocolate croissant and make you pay for it. You may need to prepare yourself emotionally for this culinary crime."

His response had been immediate. "What a shame that Le Petit Formage doesn't serve chocolate croissants then. I will meet you there at 8."

She rolled her eyes. Only Malfoy would propose breakfast at a 5 star French restaurant. If they were going there, she wouldn't be at work until 10.

She owled back. "I will be at the coffee shop at the corner on my street at 7:30 because _some_ of us work real jobs."

His response finally came when she was halfway through the first book. It was just a curt. "Fine. Then I'll pick you up at your apartment at 7:15."

That was thoroughly unnecessary but she tolerated it and didn't reply. She had books to read.

* * *

At 7:15 promptly he knocked on her door. She answered promptly, having finished getting ready half an hour prior and sitting with her tea reading in the interim. He was prompt. She would give him that, at least.

He offered his hand when they went down the steps and she gave him a glare.

He held his up in protest. "Just trying to be a gentleman, Granger."

He did put his hand on the small of her back when they crossed the street, and even through her shirt and jacket, she could feel, with alarming clarity, every single finger pressed against her.

He grimaced only a little when she ordered a chocolate croissant with her coffee

He sneaked in another touch, as they headed to their table, touching her shoulder and then letting his fingers linger on his a moment too long when he passed her the sweet-and-low. She was surprised he hadn't gotten more detentions in school. She was surprised she hadn't tackled him yet.

"What's your calendar like for the rest of the week?" He asked.

She knew he was asking because he was supposed to schedule at least one more date with her but she took her opportunity to regale him with all the details of her week anyway. It was the most captive audience she'd ever had.

"I'd like to take you to lunch tomorrow," he said when she had finished.

"I don't think I can."

"You just told me your entire schedule for the week, including when you are planning to pick up new cat food, and you are free tomorrow for lunch."

"Yeah but I'll probably just work through lunch." She enjoyed this a little bit, terribly. She'd never been in this position in the relationship.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Dinner, then?"

"I don't think I can."

"Granger."

"Malfoy?"

"I listened to 15 minutes on your schedule. You're free for lunch and dinner."

"But I'll probably be working."

"Then when would you like to go out again?"

The man at the table behind theirs looked at Draco and raised his eyebrows, his facial expression saying clearly "you don't have a chance, man." He had no idea.

"I don't know…"

"Granger."

"Malfoy?"

He sighed. "Name one date and time this week and I will let you have free reign of my library all day Saturday."

They set a date for dinner Wednesday and he walked her to work.

* * *

She realized she did not think quite enough like a Slytherin at noon that day, when he appeared at her office with lunch for the staff. He had concocted a phony business reason that justified his visit but his smirk told her he was there to see her, there because she had been difficult, there because she had stupidly told him her full schedule and now he knew how to find her the rest of the week.

And so flowers appeared randomly on her desk between meetings and croissants were delivered to her in the morning for breakfast (although they were not chocolate, because Malfoy could only go so far in courtship, even if his own life was at stake).

She had been amused at the croissants Tuesday morning and annoyed Wednesday morning. She owled him on her way out the door and accused him of trying to fatten her up. He promptly owled back that he was up to nothing of the sort, just trying to expose her to proper food.

His gifts consisted of an interesting mixture of things she could tell he had picked and things she could tell his mother had picked.

The croissants were from him. The large bouquet of roses, ostentatious and imposing, that appeared on her desk in the middle of one afternoon was almost certainly from his mother. The chocolate from France, the exact province where she had visited with her parents during her fourth year, were from him. The chocolates from Switzerland that came in a pompous gold and velvet box, came from his mother. The books on Veela came from him. The books of Pureblood etiquette came from his mother. Although on that one she was still not sure. He could really be a prat for someone who was supposed to love her forever.

* * *

Reviews make me happy :)


	5. Chapter 5

Dinner Wednesday was almost a disaster.

It had started well enough. She made it home from work in a good mood, with plenty of time, and changed for dinner. She wore red and felt clever about it, knowing that he would be vexed all night, wondering if she had worn red as a reminder of her Gryffindor roots or as a flirtation. Her dress was demure but pretty and lacy and she was quite pleased, for once, with her reflection in the mirror. She had bought the dress on he whim and Ronald had never taken her anywhere that merited it.

Right before he was due to pick her up, she panicked. It was too much, and he'd read too much into it. She was going to change into a more casual blue dress when he'd rung the doorbell. She tried to pull the red dress off quickly but the zipper was caught and he rang again.

He was still very rude.

She answered door with her dress only half zipped, the zipper refusing to go up or down. He gave her a low wolf whistle. "You look nice, Granger."

She wanted to tell him to bugger off and she hated how pleased she was. "Thanks. Can you unzip me? I'm going to change?"

He raised his eyebrows. "You look great. Why would you change?"

"It's just not comfortable," she lied.

She could tell her didn't believe her but he motioned for her to turn around and slowly, very very slowly, he raised one hand to hold the zipper steady and the other to tug on the pull. She could feel his fingers against the bare skin of her back as they pulled against the open fabric of the dress.

It probably only took seconds but it felt like minutes before he finally managed to pull the zipper free and unzipped it, as far as the track would allow, passed what was really needed, passed the top of her panties. His fingers drifted across the small of her back to her hips and he held her suddenly, and leaned in. She could feel his chest against the exposed skin of her back, and even through his thick dress shirt she could feel the heat of his body and had to keep herself from melting into him.

He kissed her neck softly, quickly, but his lips left a blaze on her skin. "You look beautiful," he told her. "No matter what you're wearing."

" _Or not wearing, for that matter_ ," he wanted to say, but even he had his limits to how much he was willing to sound like a skeezy bloke in a bar.

He let go and she stumbled for a moment and then ducked into her bedroom without looking back at him. She shut the door behind her and changed quickly, managing the zipper of the blue dress without him.

She made her way back into her living room and finally properly looked at him. He was wearing slacks and a thick grey shirt and a silver tie and was handsome and out of place in her living room.

She tried to hide this reaction. "Shall we?"

He put his arm out. She folded her arm into the crook of his and without warning he apparated them.

He was still a prat. Some things never changed.

* * *

The restaurant was lovely. She had expected he would pick something ostentatious, like the roses. Probably French. Instead, they had appeared somewhere coastal. She guessed Dover by the warmth of it, but it could just been the magical heaters disguised as planters throughout the place.

They were shown to a table immediately. Draco didn't even have to tell the host he had made a reservation. There was a small crowd for a Wednesday but they were seated immediately and a smiling, blond waitress offered them a drink on the house and read them the specials.

Hermione didn't pay attention to the mussels of the day or the complimentary white wine. She was distracted by the waitress's breasts inching closer to Malfoy's face and her long blonde hair flowing perfectly in the gentle breeze and then her finger tips momentarily touching the back of his shoulder.

Draco smiled as if she weren't a tart and asked for the mussels du jour and Hermione ordered the crabcakes out of spite and then buried herself in her wine glass to hide the glower she could feel burning across her face.

For Merlin's sake, she didn't even like the man, who was she to object to a waitress getting a little too cozy?

But it wasn't just the waitress. Two girls appeared in the middle of her story about the boy who had bit her father during a dental exam—her parents were dentists, they didn't have many good stories. They had cut in without acknowledging her and kept their backs to her as they said hello to Draco.

The taller, bustier, one had dared to touch her hand to his as she gushed about his mother's parties. "If she could ever find the time, I am sure she could write the most enchanting book about hosting lovely socials. It's one book I would actually read," she said with a laugh. Her laugh sounded like a cat dying but Hermione supposed some girls thought the high pitched squeal was attractive to men. Personally, she would have rather listened to beginner violin lessons for 4 hours but clearly she was not the person the blond was trying to court.

"I'll tell her you said that," he said graciously. "Her parties are one of her greatest joys. Although I doubt she'd ever share all her secrets."

"Slytherin," the brunette said with the smile of an inside joke.

Hermione took the momentarily lull in their insipid chatter to clear her throat and kick Draco under the table. For fuck's sake, he could at least try not flirt with other birds in front of her while trying to date her.

"By the way, have you met Gra-Hermione?" He asked. "Hermione Granger?" He corrected from his stumble. "She's working in the department of mysteries right now."

The girls pivoted a fraction of an angle to look at her. "How delightful!" The blonde squealed. "Immogene Cresta. Delighted to meet you."

The brunette didn't even bother to introduce herself. "Sorry to interrupt. Draco, maybe we can join you for drinks after your business dinner."

They tottered away on high heels and Hermione couldn't even try to hide the bitch face she made at them.

Draco merely arched an eyebrow, condescendingly cool. "They wouldn't have thought it was a business dinner if you had just worn the red dress," he said before sipping his wine.

If they weren't in public she would have flipped him off.

He urged her to finish the dentist story and she did without enthusiasm but he laughed anyway and told her about his father giving him a broom for his first broom for his sixth birthday and his mother promptly charming it to fly no faster than ten miles and hour, no higher than 3 feet off the ground. He had wined about her making his broom no better than a toddler's broom but quickly discovered even three feet terrified him a little and he stopped complaining after his first ride.

It was almost pleasant after that, trading stories of childhood misadventures. She found interesting similarities in their pre-Hogwarts lives, with foreign vacations and weird food and stranger languages and long lists of nannies, and the inherent loneliness of being an only child.

"My mother wanted more children," she had admitted to him, her tongue loosened by the wine and his hand on hers. "Something about my birth ruined that for her though. She never recovered." She hesitated for a moment but continued into uncharted territory with a gust of resolve. "They thought about adoption. I remember they started the paperwork when I was four. We all went to meet an agency, to tell them about how we would love another child. But then a few weeks later I showed my first signs of magic and they never mentioned adoption again. I didn't connect the dots until much later but I think now that they were scared to bring attention to our family when they didn't understand what was going on with me."

She suddenly broke off. She had never told anyone that. She couldn't look at him but his hand squeezed hers, his finger wrapped around hers trying to offer warmth and comfort. It was too much.

"I'm sorry you went through that," he finally said. "But if I had to guess, I don't think your parents would have traded you for the world, if you are feeling you robbed them of something."

She pulled her hand from his on the table. She had ruined this. She had made it too heavy. She had told him a secret that was precious because it wasn't her secret alone, it was her parents, and they would not approve of the boy in front of her, would not trust their secrets to him.

His fingers urged hers back, his fingertips dragging across her wrist. "I know it's not the same, but I remember my mother being pregnant at about the same age. It was a girl. I remember the pink nursery, down the hall from my room. My mother had made a big deal about preparing me to be a big brother. And then I was on a playdate with Theo and she never came to pick me up and Theo's mom got in a tizzy on the floo and had the house elf take us to his nursery. I spent four days with them and then when my father finally came to get me I asked where she was and he wouldn't say. When we got home he took me to see her and she was in bed and so pale and she wouldn't pick me up and when I asked about my sister, my mother started to cry, and my father hit me and told me to never speak of her again. I didn't see my mother again for another week and the door to the nursery was sealed shut. No one ever spoke of a baby sister again."

She twisted her wrist until her fingers could fall into his, and she squeezed. His hand felt warm and right in his. She didn't know what to say to that but she ran her thumb in circles on the back of his hand.

After a long moment she finally said. "I hated you for a long time for the child you were, but I have realized your life was not always what it seemed. I am sorry I judged you prematurely. I am sorry I held on to those judgments."

He seemed taken aback. "There is no excuse for the things that I did and said to you. I am sorry for who I was, child or not."

His mate was _aching_ , something deep inside. He wanted to hold her close until the tenderness passed. _He was_ aching. He wanted to be held close until the feelings passed.

He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I usually don't talk about these things on dates."

She managed a small smile. "No? You usually just stick to croissants and mild insults?" She teased softly, allowing him a retreat from his emotions.

"Only with you, Granger," he grinned.

She rolled her eyes. "What did I ever do to deserve such luck?"

They were walking out when they passed Immogene Cresta and Nameless Brunette Bitch at the bar. They motioned Draco over but he merely waved goodbye. Hermione took a silent satisfaction at their scowls.

"I should be grateful to you, Granger," he whispered. "If you weren't my mate, I'd probably be forced to marry some horrid woman like that."

She tried to hide how secretly thrilled but at the very same time knew her efforts were futile when he could feel everything she felt. She tempered herself with the alarming realization that he had just referred to marriage. That was certainly a sobering thought.


	6. Chapter 6

Thursday he wrote her a letter about his wings growing in. "It hurt like fuck and it took me a week to figure out how to sleep again properly." It wasn't Shakespeare but it had made her laugh.

Friday he wrote to her about the origins of the word "Friday" and how the goddess "Frigg" had really been a very benevolent witch and how muggles had no idea the very name of their favorite day of the week was a testament to the wizarding world. He sent her a book of magical to muggle etymology that looked thoroughly skimmed-through. He had done his homework for her as well as he had for school, at least.

Saturday he showed up with coffee and croissants.

She was wearing jeans and pulled on a jacket before they left. "No red dress?" He winked. For that she pulled on a scarf to put another layer between herself and his leering.

"I'll apparate us to my library."

His library was even more magnificent up close than it had been from her glimpse on the stairs. It was the library of a fairy tale. It had tall airy windows and floor to ceiling gleaming wood shelves with sliding ladders and cozy armchairs. There was even a requisite wooden globe.

"I thought we could start here. There's also the library at the manor, which is larger, but I already brought over most of the books I thought would be relevant. Mine is no Hogwarts library either, but it's not drafty at least."

"It's a beautiful library," she said. "Thank you."

He looked sheepish but led her to the table of books he'd already picked up. She took three and sat down to review. He took two and sat in the chair opposite of hers. She hadn't really expected him to join her but he looked quite settled in.

She skimmed her three books page by page very quickly without any promising leads. When she finally stood, she stretched, flexing her arms above her head and bending to pop her back before shaking out her limbs.

She found his eyes fixated on her and became instantly self-conscious. She avoided his gaze and went back to her pile of books but felt him watching her as she crossed the library.

She skimmed another two without incident but without any findings. She grew restless and in her second search for new books, strayed from the table he had set out and took to roaming his library. His collection was vast and looking for something useful at random was about as likely as finding a needle in a haystack but she needed to stretch her legs and she was looking for inspiration.

She found a small subsection on magical and muggle creature interactions that looked intriguing. She reached for a book but could only skim the bottom of the spine with her fingertips.

Suddenly she could feel him. She hadn't even realized he had gotten up, had crossed the room, and suddenly he was behind her, an arm on either side of her as he reached up over her head. He had her caged against the bookshelf momentarily and it was the dress incident all over again and his chest burned against her back. He nuzzled her and gently pushed her head to expose more of her neck to him. He pressed a long kiss to the spot where her neck met her shoulder and followed it with two soft kisses up her throat.

His breath was warm against her ear. "If you just gave in, you could live in this library forever," he promised in a whisper and then kissed the shell of her ear as if to seal the promise.

She couldn't breathe and she felt every inch of her body freeze and melt at the same time. As suddenly as he had held her, he pulled away, dropped the book into her hands, and went back to his seat.

She stood there a long moment more, torn between a desire to bare her neck to him again, to let him kiss it, to let him kiss her starting there, and an equally strong desire to throw the literal book at him for his nerve and very clear violation of the no-touching rule. She had the rule for a _reason_.

She resolved not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her shaken and prayed that he couldn't feel how strongly she felt when she didn't even know what it was she was feeling. She _could_ live in that library forever.

She sat down and looked at him briefly, just long enough to notice just the edges of a smirk on his lips, and focused her attention on her own book with renewed determination.

 _Prat_.

Two hours later he had grown bored and went to bother the house elves about lunch. As loathe as she was to admit it, she was getting restless with books as well. She had read more books more quickly than she ever had but she couldn't enjoy them because she was looking for information she couldn't find and she was up against a timeline she didn't know. She was frustrated with the books, with herself, with the bald prat she could hear puttering around in the kitchen.

She put down her book and stretched again, bending side to side and up and down, relishing at each popping vertebrae and the lack of annoying voyeurs.

She didn't look up when the door opened.

"I'm almost ready for lunch," she called. "I'm just logging what I read this morning."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I did not mean to intrude during lunch."

Goosebumps prickled across her skin and she turned to see Narcissa enter the room.

Her face burned with surprise and embarrassment and a general anxiety about seeing the woman again, much less so unexpectedly. "My apologies," she said. "I assumed it was Draco."

Narcissa's polite smile was probably trademarked in some ancient book on pureblood etiquette. "Of course not. You could not have known I was here. I myself assumed it would be Draco in the library when I saw the light on."

Narcissa took graceful steps towards her and Hermione was hyper-aware of her own troll-like posture and the bulky cable-knit sweater she had worn. She was halfway to apologizing for her appearance when Narcissa began to peruse the books she and Draco had spent the morning going through. They were all in a careless jumble on the table, dropped there with frustration over their lack of helpful content.

"These are the books you've been reading to learn more about Veela?" Narcissa asked with curiosity.

"Those are the books we've read this morning on Veela. I've read several more over the past few weeks," Hermione clarified.

Narcissa made a slight frown and shook her head. Her black hair shone in the light in a perfectly coiffed sheet. "You need…" she went to the bookshelves and traced down the rows before reaching a stop in the middle of a section Hermione had skipped over in the morning's perusal.

Narcissa plucked a slim black volume from the shelves and turned back. "I believe this will be more helpful," Narcissa told her.

Hermione took the book and glanced at the cover. _Soul Magic_. It startled her. She was about to ask, though she didn't know what, about why that would be more helpful, when Draco walked in.

"Mother," he greeted. "I didn't know you would be in."

He kissed his cheek when he greeted her but glanced between the two women with slight apprehension. "I was just over at Harrods and thought you might be interested in joining me for afternoon tea. I'm sorry for the intrusion, did not realize you'd be having a late lunch."

"We had a long reading session this morning. I'm afraid we both lost track of time." Hermione nearly snorted at this polite explanation. In truth _she'd_ lost time and he'd spent the last hour staring out the window and intermittently asking if she was hungry until she'd conceded out of boredom. But she was amused at how politely he spoke with her mother. If he were half as polite to her they may not be in the predicament they were.

Draco was hesitating and looking at her and she realized he was trying to seek some sign of her approval for the invitation that courtesy mandated he offer. She took the burden from him. "Would you like to join us for lunch?"

Narcissa smiled again, her perfectly polite smile. "No, thank you. I already ate, just wanted a bit of tea. I won't intrude on your luncheon any longer though."

She kissed Draco on the cheek and nodded politely to Hermione before taking her leave. Draco walked her to the door. Hermione didn't know if it was more polite to also walk her to the door or grant her a small private audience with her son and decided to stay put because she couldn't figure out which would be more proper and she wanted to stay in the library regardless.

She heard the door close and Draco's soft footsteps back across the hall to the entrance of the library. He looked at Hermione searchingly. "She was…" he searched for the word, a word to be concerned for Hermione but not accusing of his mother. "civil?"

Hermione nodded. "Very civil."

Draco seemed relieved that their accidental meeting had gone so well. "You won't have to meet my father like that," he promised. "He doesn't show up unannounced."

She smiled and tried to hide how much the prospect unsettled her. "It's fine."

He seemed to be searching her, still, for something, which was absurd because he could feel her every emotion anyway. "Are you still hungry?" He asked finally. "Lunch is nearly ready. Salmon with dill yogurt and orzo."

She smiled, a smile that showed too many teeth that were a little too large anyway and would never be modeled in an etiquette book as poised. "That sounds lovely."

She left the book on the table without looking at it again. _Soul Magic_.

What rot.

* * *

She went home after lunch, and sank into a bubble bath with a large glass of wine because she was feeling lazy and like she deserved it.

She almost forgot the book until she re-discovered it in her bag the following morning. She had wanted to finish the mystery instead but she felt obligated to at least look at it, if Narcissa had suggested it. She started a pot of tea and settled down to it.

Three hours later she had read the whole thing. Twice. The words were all swimming in her head.

 _Soul magic is rare and tricky to manipulate, but does occur naturally in a few ways. Predominantly, soul magic is involved in certain types of mating. Some magical creatures have soul mates, including werewolves, veela, merepeople, centaurs, and leprechauns. Witches and wizards may have soul mates as well, although it is rare._

 _The magic involved in "picking" soul mates is not well understood and varies by species._

 _Some soul mates report being natural fits for each other; others, more as complete opposites._

 _In wizards, soul mates reported higher levels of relationship satisfaction than non-soul mate partners consistently from the start of the relationship until death._

 _The timing of soul mates is also not well understood. Some species report feeling the pull of a soul mate starting at a young age; some do not know they have a mate until quite late and they may have even already had relationships with other people by the time the mate is identified._

 _The bond is inevitable and irrevocable._

 _Soul magic, as the name implied, is tied to both the soul and magic of the creatures involved._

 _Most spells involving soul magic are very dark. During the early 1200s, research on soul magic briefly became popular as wizards idolized it as an ultimate weapon. However, most attempts to conquer soul magic ended in great calamity for the wizard. Few successful spells are known._

But Hermione knew of one.

* * *

I have a cold and I'm being a baby about it but reviews make me happy :)


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks for the reviews! I am feeling much better and your words made me happy!

* * *

Draco sent an owl asking her to dinner that night.

 _Dinner? I'll spring for something fancy and sugar-free if you wear that red dress_.

She read it but couldn't bring herself to respond. She couldn't bring herself to even get off the couch. She felt confused and numb.

He wasn't just her veela mate, he was her soul mate.

And she knew how to severe that bond.

If she hadn't known the former, two weeks ago she might have done the latter. But it was different, knowing that he was her soul mate. Their bond stemmed not just from his condition, but was reciprocated in her own magic and soul. It wasn't just hormones and pheromones, it was her _soul._ And she had perhaps grown somewhat fond of him to boot.

She was still pondering this predicament when the bell rang. She knew, instinctively, that it would be him.

"Granger?" He called. "Let me in." She tensed but didn't move. "I know you're home." Because of course he did. "You don't have to wear the red dress," he finally offered.

And she was almost sure she heard him add, much more quietly. "You don't have to wear anything."

The prat.

She finally got up, if only because she had grown fond of her new door and she knew he had no qualms about blasting through doors.

True enough, he was hastily shoving his wand back up his sleeve when she opened the door.

She raised an eyebrow at him and he could only manage a sheepish smile.

"Hello," she said although she couldn't look him in the eye.

He stepped into her flat without invitation and closed the door behind himself. "Is everything ok?"

She nodded. "I'm fine. I'm going to make a cuppa. Would you like one?"

She moved to the kitchen but his hand on his arm pulled her back. "You're not. What's wrong?"

She shook him off and stepped away. "Nothing. I just read the book your mother gave me yesterday."

He looked puzzled, trying to figure out how the book could be the source of her turmoil. "Was it not... helpful?"

She shook her head. "It was very informative."

"Was it… insensitive? Just because it's published in a book doesn't mean it's an indisputable fact, you know." He was trying to tease her but it was half-hearted and she couldn't reciprocate anyway.

She shook her head. "No, it's not that."

He pushed her gently back to her couch.

"What was it about?"

"Soul magic. And laws. A little bit on laws."

"There was one anecdote about a wizarding couple in the late 1500s that were soul mates. They met at their town's annual festival and knew immediately. Her family tried to break the bond and kept her from him. She was from a noble family and he was a legal clerk. Respectable, but not a count. They found a nobleman for her to marry and the clerk tried to take it to the court. She was so distraught without him, at the prospect of marrying someone else, her magic essentially imploded and she died. He drowned himself not long after. Ultimately a new law was passed that recognized precedence of soul mates bonds over marriage. It helped that wizards at the time were very sensitive at the time to soul magic and had come to respect it after decades of trying to master it and blowing themselves to bits in the process. But it was too late for the couple."

"Is that what has you disturbed? A distraught maiden centuries ago?"

He hadn't listened carefully enough to what she said, hadn't heard everything she implied.

"No."

"Hermione?" He tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

She threw her arms around him suddenly and buried her face in his neck. The princess probably used an expensive lotion on his neck. He probably had a special lotion for each part of his body. The crook of his neck was warm and inviting and smelled divine and saved her from having to look at him. He tensed for a moment and then began rubbing circles on her back.

"Hermione, please, what is it?"

"I know how to sever the bond," she said finally, quietly.

His hand stilled and he withdrew from her.

"What do you mean?"

"It's soul magic. Veela mates are just a form of soul mates." The next part felt like treason to even say. "Fracture the soul, break the bond."

He didn't say anything. She finally braved a look at his face and found he was looking away from her, out her window. She could feel the tension in his body. His silence was crushing her.

"So all I have to do to get rid of you is fracture my soul?" He asked. His words were teasing but he couldn't quite bring his tone to match them. "And how does one go about fracturing their soul? Magical sledghammer to the heart?"

She was shaking. "I know of two ways right now. It's very dark magic. Horcuxes or the dementor's kiss." She felt nauseous just saying it.

He shuddered. "I couldn't create a horcux."

"I know," she said softly. "There may be other ways. I just don't know them yet."

He stood, suddenly. "I need to go. To think."

She stood just as suddenly. "I didn't mean to imply… I don't think… I know it would work. But I don't find it a… desirable solution."

He hugged her, tightly and quickly and it sapped the air from her lungs. "I know," he whispered, and then he left.

* * *

She felt ill the next two days. She had stopped reading altogether. By Tuesday she had reached her lifetime record of time spent without reading.

He also didn't reach out to her during that time. It was the longest they had gone without speaking since that night at the Malfoy's ball. She felt a wry since of despair. Only _she_ could have a soul mate, someone tied to her heart and soul and magic for eternity, and still manage to drive him away.

Wednesday, Theo stormed into her office.

"You're soul mates," he proclaimed. "Can you two be normal people about it and just go off and have lots of sex and babies please?"

She blushed. "Merlin! I am _at work_. Lower your voice."

He had the decency to shut the door behind him.

"Draco has never heard so many books in his life. It's not good for the health. Just look at yourself."

She bristled. "Reading books is _healthy_."

" _Obsession_ is not," he countered. "He would do anything for you. He's trying to figure out how to do anything for you. He let you cut his bleeding hair, for fuck's sake. Don't let him figure out what else he can do for you. Can't you just go for his inheritance like a good little bird?"

She rolled her eyes. "Is this a package deal if I do? If things…progress with Draco, do I get to look forward to a lifetime of your witty commentary on our lives as well? If so, Merlin help me, it's a deal breaker."

"I'm _endearing,"_ he informed her. "And it is a package deal. You're welcome."

Between the two of them her eyes might roll out of her eye sockets. She wondered if there was a corrective surgery for that and if she could invoice it to Draco.

"I may have to negotiate that. Do you know where he is now?"

* * *

Two short chapters left! And guess who wrote through a cold? I did! After this cold passes I may realize I wrote five pages of jibberish but if not, look forward to another Dramione soon!


	8. Chapter 8

She let herself into his townhome. A house elf in a clean blue smock met her at the door. She seemed both eager and apprehensive of Hermione.

"Miss Granger is here to see Master Draco!" The elf exclaimed. "Master Draco has needed his Miss Granger. Miss Granger has been gone too long for Master Draco." The rebuke was subtle but Hermione understood. Even the house elf knew she'd done poorly by Draco.

She changed the subject as they walked to the library.

"Your smock is very nice," Hermione said.

The elf ducked her head. "Ducky said it was not right, but Master Draco insisted. Ducky is always to be wearing clean clothes. Ducky is free," the elf shuttered at this. "But Ducky could never leave Master Draco."

This caught Hermione by surprise. "That is unusual."

The elf nodded. "Master Draco insisted."

They had nearly reached the library. "Ducky will bring tea. Miss Granger likes Earl Grey?"

"Yes, Ducky, thank you very much."

"Ducky is happy to be bringing Miss Granger tea. Ducky is happy Miss Granger is here now. Miss Granger makes Master Draco happy." Hermione couldn't decide if Ducky was making a statement or issuing an order on how she was to treat Draco. The house elf disappeared before she could ever try to ask.

The door of the library was ajar and she pushed it open slightly and slipped inside. She had left work early and the mid afternoon light made the room glow. Draco was submerged in a small pile of books at the couch, an open bottle of amber liquid not far away.

"Hi," she said.

He clambered to his feet, a few books tumbling out of his lap. "Hello."

"Your house elf wears clothes," she said, at a loss of where else to start.

Draco nodded. "She does. She is also paid. And has time off." He broke into a wry smile. "She hates it."

Hermione shared his smile. "I could tell. But she's very devoted to you. I don't know if she wanted to hug me or strangle me when I showed up."

He shrugged. "She's just as likely to have tried to hug you and accidentally strangled you instead. We're lucky you made it."

"Why didn't you just take a normal house elf?" She asked.

"I couldn't," he said. "Not after Dobby. He was my house elf growing up. And then he saved your life." This reason, and his candor in sharing it, touched her.

He had nearly reached her but hesitated a few feet away. "Did you come here to discuss my house elf?"

She shook her head. He turned away from her slightly. "I have been thinking since Sunday," he said, not quite looking at her. "I know time is running out on this Stage. I am prepared to accept the Kiss if it's necessary."

His statement fell thickly between them and he suddenly reached out to her, his hands heavy on her shoulders. "But no matter what happens, Hermione, I am glad it was you. I know it's selfish. I hate that you didn't have a choice, that I and all of this were just thrust on you. But I'm selfish and I would pick you again if it I did have a choice. You're brilliant and kind and brave and funny and too damn stubborn and I never could have hoped to deserve you."

It was too nearly cried. Instead she closed the distance between them and stood on her toes to kiss him. His arms closed around her instantly and his lips hesitated only a moment before pressing back against hers. "Of course you deserve me," she said between kisses. "You terrible, absurd, wonderful man." His tongue searched hers and the taste of whiskey was sharp and sweet. "Don't-don't even say- mine is the only kiss you'll ever receive."

He kissed her again, hard, and she realized with a mute horror that she had begun crying in earnest and was sobbing wet tracks down both of their cheeks.

She pulled away and laughed at herself, at her own absurdity, as she wiped away the tears. "I'm sorry," she said as she blinked. "This is so embarrassing. I just… I was so distraught when I found a solution. I was afraid you'd find a suitable option and it'd all be over. I didn't think you'd want me, not until Theo came to harass me-"

He kissed her again, despite her tears. "Stop it," he whispered, brushing the tears out of her eyes. "Of course I want you. I've wanted you before I knew you were my mate. Before I could have known. You're everything. But I could never let myself trap you."

She fell into his kiss and didn't object when his hands found their way under her bum and picked her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, thankful she had worn a very loose skirt. She could already feel an impressive erection straining against her as he moved them to the couch.

"Tell me when to stop," he whispered as he set her down. "We can go slow."

She shook her head. "Don't stop. It's ok. Besides, we can't wait too long. If Stage Five crept up on us and bumped you off, it'd be such a waste."

He laughed as he kissed up her throat. "You just want our first time to be in a library."

She laughed and it turned to a moan as he squeezed her breast. "Yes. And I want the library. It's one of my terms. Retroactively" She moaned as he switched his attentions.

He pulled her sweater over her head and found her mouth again. "Only _you,"_ he laughed.

* * *

They discovered that Theo was right about Veela mating sex. They didn't have a chance to tell him for another week, though. They spent a full day in the library alone, definitively not reading.

* * *

 _Just the epilogue left!_


	9. Chapter 9

This epilogue didn't exist at first but when I was done I decided we all needed a peek into their lives down the road. Enjoy! :)

* * *

 _Two Years Later_

He couldn't kill the girl.

But Merlin, he was half a second away from it anyway.

His girl, his mate, his cosmic fluke, was glaring at him from across the room. He could feel the waves of anger radiating off her.

Not that he was particularly happy with her either.

They were at Weasley's wedding. That was the biggest cosmic fluke of all. Somehow while commiserating about how terrible Draco and Hermione were as a couple, Ron and Immogene had ended up together. The wedding was a blown up affair, a ridiculous and over-the-top spectacle. There were live peacocks. Draco snorted. It wasn't entirely Immogene's fault. The poor girl probably didn't even know how to spell "subtle".

He caught Hermione's eye and knocked back another gulp of whiskey. He felt her fury immediately and he smirked. That was the one good thing about the absurd wedding, at least: the alcohol was phenomenal. He took another long swig for good measure.

She stalked over to him at that.

"Now you're just gloating," she hissed.

"I'm just enjoying the wedding," he smirked. "Weddings are beautiful things. I may not get my own so I might as well enjoy this one."

"Technically you—"

Technically, they were married. Better than married, really. He knew that. But he wanted everyone else to know it.

He had used that line the last time they had argued about it and she had accused him of being a dog pissing on a fire hydrant to mark its territory and she had no intentions of being a fire hydrant, thank you very much.

"I don't want it to be a _technicality_ ," he ground out.

"I don't want to have this argument here," she spat back.

They were speaking in quiet undertones, leaning close together but not touching. It amused him that from the outside it would look like they were flirting. It annoyed him that he knew if he reached out even an inch to touch her, his anger would disappear and he'd be apologizing instantly.

He wouldn't let them go to bed angry but he was fine with arguing with her until then.

"You didn't even want to come," she added.

That was true. But could you blame him? Who _would_ want to go to their soul mate's ex's wedding? Especially since he had eventually pulled out of her what had repulsed her so much the night of his mother's garden party. Draco hadn't even been with her then, but he still wanted to throttle the red head on sight.

That was how the argument had started. He hadn't wanted to go and they had gone around and around on it for days and finally he conceded so she would sleep with him again even though he was still secretly plotting to get out of it. All his plans had fallen through, though. As a last resort he'd tried to seduce her that morning as she got dressed.

It had almost worked. She was coming down from her high and reaching for his trousers to repay the favor when the grandfather clock—his mother's worst gift ever—down the hall had started to chime. It had brought her back to reality just long enough.

She had pushed him away then and gave him an accusing look before shoving him out of her closet and hurrying to finish getting ready.

And then she had put on the red dress.

It couldn't have been an accident. He took it personally that she hadn't worn it for him and now she was wearing it for Weasley's wedding.

It was enough to make him very cross.

She, in part, was angry at him for being so cross and making them so late they almost missed the vows and now for drinking. And for evanesco-ing her panties right before they apparated. It had been a last-minute petty attempt at revenge since he was still sporting an erection. He had been kind enough to warn her before apparating them, though, at least.

"I'm here now, aren't I?" He said and raised another drink to toast to her silently.

She took it out of his hands. " _Enough_."

The physical contact of her fingers against his nearly did him in. He didn't resist as she pushed him out of the room and down the hall until she found a suitable room to shove him in.

She tossed him against a wall and it bit into his hips.

"You are the most _insufferable prat_ ," she spat. She hit him again and he pushed her arms away and she fought him off. Her hands met his stomach again and he tried to shove them off but she persisted and then was pulling off the buttons of his shirt and he stopped resisting.

She was attacking his buttons with rigor and he took his opportunity to reach the zipper at the side of her cursed dress. She let him pull it over her head when she was down with the buttons and he took great satisfaction in throwing it to the floor. He was also quite pleased her panties were already gone.

* * *

After, they lay entwined on the floor. She was absentmindedly playing with buttons on the cuff of his shirt, still clasped around his wrist. She'd be impatient.

"You're lucky I'm hormonal right now," she told him.

He laughed. "You're always horny regardless."

She glared at him but went back to the buttons.

She was being too pensive. She wasn't angry anymore but she also wasn't feeling as amorous or happy as she usually did post-coitus.

He nudged her shoulder with his elbow. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

"Hermione—"

"I think I'm just sleepy." She burrowed her face into his side and he rubbed circles on her back reflexively. "Do you think we can just go home?"

He snorted. "There are no less than 500 people here. I doubt they'll notice we're gone."

She giggled at that. "Can you apparate us home from here?"

"Yeah. But you'll have to let me up enough to get our clothes first."

She consented to roll off of him but continued to laze on the floor and watched him collect their clothing. When he had it all he turned back to help her to her feet.

She leaned against him heavily. "Ready?" He asked. She nodded and with a crack they were in their bedroom.

She took a long moment to pull away from him. He pressed a kiss to her hair before he let go and she disappeared into their bathroom.

He was surprised when she reappeared only a few minutes later and fell into bed. He knew she'd have different energy levels now but the difference from an hour ago was dramatic. He wasn't tired but brushed his teeth and scooted into the bed next to her.

He brushed her hair out of her face.

"Hermione, love, are you sure you're ok?" He whispered.

"I'm just thinking," she said groggily.

"About?" he coaxed. His witch began feeling apprehensive.

She opened her eyes and studied his face a moment. "I'm going to marry you," she told him matter-of-factly.

He nearly laughed. "Then you should stop saying no when I ask you to."

"I want to ask you instead."

He made at face at that. "Hermione, we're soul mates and we're having a baby together. Why can't you just say yes?"

She pushed away from him a little at that. "That's exactly why. We were together within a month of your terribly-worded declaration and I had moved in with you within the week of that and it's barely been a year and we're having a baby."

He felt his heart clench. This felt suspiciously like his mate rejecting him. "Are you not happy our life?" He asked enough though the words hurt.

She shook her head quickly and he felt relief. "No. It's not that at all." She reached out her hand and pressed her palm against his jaw. "I'm very happy with our life. I love you, and I'm excited for our baby. But it happened so fast and even though I'm happy with it all I never really had a choice in it. I want to ask you to marry me. When I'm ready for it."

He kissed her soundly. "Ok," he whispered, "ok."

Her wave of happiness swept over him like walking into their warm home on a chilly night. She kissed him again.

She fell asleep not long after but he stayed up, running his hands through her hair long after she had begun snoring softly.

Two years ago, he'd be single and convinced he was going to hit stage 5 and die alone. Now they were together and so stupidly, ridiculously happy, and they were having a baby in seven months.

Thank Merlin he hadn't killed her.


End file.
